


Beginnings of a Breakfast

by AnnaofAza



Series: A Ship in the Harbor [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (between Dean and Castiel), Benny's Boat, Dean Winchester POV, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Musing, Post-Episode AU: s08e10 Torn and Frayed, Season/Series 08, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ship in a harbor is safe, but that's not what ships are built for. </p><p>Dean makes a choice after joining Benny in the Catskills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings of a Breakfast

Dean wakes up to the smell of beignets, golden and dusted with powdered sugar. He stirs on the beaten-up couch, taking in the low ceiling, cramped lodgings, and quiet humming. The air outside smells salty and crisp, but inside, the tang of a newly-opened blood bag makes Dean’s stomach roil slightly. Different from musty mold growing in bathroom ceilings, old leather seats, and heather and sparks. Dean would pick out that scent, even in Purgatory, and he remembers scruff against his cheek, a trenchcoat underneath his open palms, arms that didn't hug back.

The cabin inside is quiet, with Benny trying as much as he can to prevent waking him. It’s cozy, if a bit cooler than he’s used to, and the steady rhythm of the boat is different than the motionless motel rooms or the vibration of baby’s engine. Personal touches dot the boat—shells collected from beaches, a telescope on crowded shelves, piles of blankets and pillows, a stack of maps, and Benny’s hat hanging from a hook. It seems like more of a home than Dean had ever had.

He remembers the conversation from last night, after breaking into a hospital near the Catskills to bring Benny a new supply of blood bags. They'd convened in Benny's new boat, still docked in the harbor.

_“Can you drink coffee?”_

_“Well, my kind was never meant to digest food.” Benny shrugged, handing Dean a freshly-brewed cup. “So, we usually throw it up. But I knew that some of the crew, back in the day, would mix small amounts of blood into foods they missed, and it seemed to settle in their stomachs a little easier.”_

_Dean shuddered at that. “Have you tried?”_

_“Doesn’t taste the same. Besides, you can’t start stirrin’ in blood into beignets.”_

_For some reason, that made Dean laugh, for the first time in a few days. “You better not tell Sam that.”_

_“Of course not. Do you think I have a death wish? Amelia seems like she won't be adjusting to Sam bein’ a hunter so soon; she might not react well to me bursting in and talking about old vampirate recipes.”_

_“Ha!” Dean pointed a finger at him. “I knew that would catch on!”_

_Benny rolled his eyes. “Chief, if there’s one thing you have a knack for, it’s nicknames.” He opened his blood bag and took another sip. Dean could tell he was savoring it the best he could. “You need to go back, though.”_

_Dean’s spine straightened so it no longer touched the yielding back of the couch. “Are you kicking me out?”_

_“I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying…just because Sam chose Amelia, doesn’t mean you two stop being brothers.”_

_Making a noncommittal huff, Dean instead quaffed his coffee. It was bitter, black, and strong, almost as good as a throat-burning shot. He could feel his teeth begin to erode, trying not to notice Benny’s penetrating stare. His cell phone was on a beat-up trunk that served as Benny’s coffee table, and Sam hadn’t contacted him yet. It was going to be like Stanford all over again…_

_“Why's_ _it gotta be your way or the highway?”_

_Dean looked indignantly up at him, surprised. “What? I—“_

_“Dean, the only reason you listened to back in Purgatory is because I knew the place better than you did.” Benny shook his head. “Why can’t you have a life and be a hunter? Why choose one or the other?”_

_“I tried that.” Dean didn’t look at him. “Didn’t go over so well. People got hurt, because of me.”_

_“I’m not going to pretend to know the circumstances.” Placing a steadying hand on Dean’s right shoulder, Benny rubbed it once, but didn’t pull away, as Cas often did._

_“Sam made his choice. He and I made a deal. If he didn’t go to Amelia, and I didn’t go to you, then…”_

_“But you came here.”_

_Dean acknowledged this with a sigh. “I couldn’t abandon you, Benny. Not after all we’ve been through. You’ve never let me down.”_

_Silence permeated the room. Dean was aware of how close they were, how Benny’s hand closed tightly on his shoulder, how the thlock-thlock-thlock of boats rocking outside combined with the sleepy outbursts of the crickets. He had never had this much peace since…since…Purgatory? No, he wouldn’t have called that peace, exactly, but security—security in his useful skills, security in his goal, security in what he wanted._

_Benny finally asked, a light edge in a serious tone: “So, I’m your Amelia?”_

_“Looks like it.”_

Dean groans softly and rubs at his eyes. Had he really said that?

He checks his phone, and there are two missed calls, a voicemail, and three texts from Sam. One seemed to be a case of good old-fashioned butt-dialing, but the other two said _staying up here for a while with Amelia_ and _meet you back at the cabin later._ The voicemail mentioned the same things, ending with a _we’ll talk later, okay?_

He has to leave soon. He needs to reconnect with Sam and soothe the slight fear that’s been nagging at him since Sam left for another life.

But Sam is with Amelia, possibly for a longer time than most girls he’s been with. And Dean’s with someone who…who…was an ally? Friend? Something else? A small factor seemed to change the equation, something almost stronger than all the years he and Cas shared. So…a fling?

But Benny wasn’t a fling. To Dean, _fling_ reminded him of tossing a stone into the ocean and watching it land amongst the waves with a plop.

If it happened just once, Dean thought he could provide an easy explanation: they were both riled up, maybe needing company, and things happened.

But it wasn’t that simple.

Dean was reminded of a funny little passage from _Game of Thrones_ —yes, Sam, he did read—about Jon and Ygritte: _He swore it would never happen again—it happened twice that evening and once in the morning._

Benny _kissed_ him, after Purgatory, after Andrea. Dean had stopped thinking of kissing like it mattered, but now it did. His first kiss had been special, then with Cassie, then with Lisa, but they ended up the same. Dean always left.

Dean had heard horror stories from boys he knew, about being thrown out in the streets or being shuttled away to some conversion camp. He had convinced himself that Dad would never do that—Dad needed a hunting partner and someone to look after Sam. And Dad wasn’t _blatantly_ homophobic. They’d worked cases that involved homosexuals—hell, one of Dean’s earlier cases that been with two nuns in love—and Dad never turned away from the mission. There were some things that set Dean back, like if Dad glanced over at two guys holding hands and smiling at each other in a bar. And he was always congratulating Dean about scoring with a girl.

But when Dean thought about telling Dad, he’d have to explain that he still liked girls, and that was something he wasn’t ready to deal with or could fully understand himself. But if Dad threw him in a boys’ home for stealing some food to feed Sam, then what would his response be if Dean ever told him about necking with Vincent behind the bleachers? It wasn’t worth the risk.

Dean knew he was, in a way, a bridge, between Benny and Andrea then.

It was almost funny how he was wishing for the goddamn _Apocalypse_ in his first days of Purgatory. But it had been simple, in a way, with one mission: kill the devil. It was almost like Purgatory, except their one mission became harder: find the Horsemen, destroy the rings, try to work with Crowley, protect Adam, save Cas…

Dean used to fantasize, a little, about escaping the world a minute. Visit Venice for a day trip. Or to go to a Led Zeppelin concert. But it would have been selfish, and besides, Cas’ mojo was low, anyway. They didn’t have time for frivolous things.

On good days, the answer was easy. Yes, he would have killed Cas. If the God thing lasted longer, if the Leviathans didn’t dunk him in the water, if anything went wrong—right?—Dean would have. It was the logical thing to do.

But on bad days, when his head was fuzzy and delirious, or every night when he prayed to Cas, Dean had more trouble justifying to himself, with a little reason that simply said that _he just couldn’t._ He wouldn’t have been able to do it.

It was different from Cassie, real and terrifying but very fragile. It was different from Lisa, steady and secure but torn apart too many times to be repaired. It was different from…from Cas, somehow. It felt… surer.

At the surface, Benny didn’t seem like the easier choice. He drank blood, after all, and always had to hide in some way from civilization. And even though it took a while for Sam and Cas to be somewhat friends—solid allies, definitely—Sam never actually hated Cas. Dean didn’t want to think about if he bought Benny home for a nice, family dinner, especially after the Amelia and Martin debacles.

Purgatory had changed Dean. For the first time in a while, Dean wanted to be honest with himself. He felt clean—purged, more like it. No more secrets. No more lies.

Maybe he’d stay for breakfast.


End file.
